A Field of Poppies
by corsairr
Summary: The time has come for the Warden to leave behind Par Vollen and her lover within. He'd always spoken of the inevitable arrival of a qunari invasion, and now it seems she left only to heed it.


The two years that passed since the end of the Blight were arguably the happiest Salem had ever experienced. Contrary to universal stereotypes, the qunari were a very exciting race, almost as exciting as the dwarves. They drank, and brawled, and loved, and made love. It was almost peculiar to watch, having been someone who hung around Sten- stoic and cold -the majority of her life outside the Denerim alienage. Views became skewed when only meeting one person of a race. Salem didn't regret agreeing to live with her lover in Par Vollen.

But now it had come to an end, and Ferelden needed her back. Alistair had sent her four letters in the past week, all begging for her help with the throne. "Well, what am I supposed to do?" she'd wrote back to him. "I'm a pissy elf from the outback whose only experience involves a sword and a lot of blood."

Alas, she was the one who put Alistair on the throne. Honestly, it was a decision made in a pinch; she didn't give it much thought and was admittedly blinded by her progressive hatred of Anora (who'd betrayed her and resulted in her imprisonment in Fort Drakon; that wasn't fun at all). She didn't think to actually listen to what Alistair wanted, which wasn't the throne. Fact remained, Salem didn't trust some hotshot noble who made more money than her to protect the elves and do something for the alienage.

In short, she was obligated to help out her friend, which meant she had to leave her boyfriend and this exciting, if not mean, island. She and Sten were standing at the docks, unsure of how to say goodbye. Salem shuffled her feet awkwardly. "It's been... fun?"

"I suppose," he replied. His usually monotone voice held some sorrow.

More silence that seemed to trudge on forever.

"Does this mark the end of our... relationship, then?" he asked, still holding that sad voice that was so unlike Sten.

She shook her head, a smirk playing at her lips. "Unless you move on to some qunari woman with a really nice set of horns and a can-do attitude, I don't think so."

He didn't smile. Two years ago, Salem might have thought this frown was his version of smiling, but she'd spent enough time with him now to decipher between the two. "I would not be disloyal to you," he said, a hint of a growl pricking at the edges of his tone. "I trust you will remain faithful as well."

"Don't worry, big guy. After having sex with a warmongering qunari, nobody else is really gonna live up to that," she replied with a wink.

Sten's eyes narrowed to slits. "Alistair." was all he said.

Salem stared, unblinking.

"Alistair," repeated Sten irritably, "Only a fool or someone in denial would say that the way he looks at you is pure brotherly affection. I am under no illusions. He is your fellow Grey Warden and someone more compatible with your size-"

"Maker, Sten, I'm not interested in Alistair," Salem argued with a breathless sigh.

"You are leaving me to return to him."

"I'm leaving you to return to Ferelden," she corrected him.

His narrowed eyes grew ever-thinner.

"Oh, shut up. You're welcome to join me if you want."

"I cannot leave Par Vollen. I am the Arishok." He took a step forward, squaring his shoulders and towering over Salem. She would have been intimidated if she didn't have him on his knees just the night before. "I am going to trust that you will return to me." He laid one big, calloused hand on her shoulder. "Be it four weeks or four years, I will remain yours."

Salem's hand moved to rest atop his, and she smiled. "I love you, Sten."

"And I love you." The ship's horn blew thrice, snapping them out of their moment. "You should get going." There was something else in his tone now, something ominous and foreshadowing. Something wrong.

Her brow furrowed. "Sten-"

"Before, I hoped to not see you on the battlefield. Now, I may actually pray to a God I don't believe in that the blood spilled will not be yours," he added. He turned her around and shoved her forward. "Go. Your people await."

 **X X X**

Ferelden drifted into view. The palace of Denerim could be seen from where Salem stood, on the tip of the bowsprit, holding onto the railing to keep her balance. Salem was not a happy elf. She knew Sten's plans right from the beginning, and she knew that his people and their prosper came before anything, even his lover. Would it be wrong for her not to warn King Alistair?

She'd done worse things. Captain Isabela strolled to her side. "Home sweet home," she chided, grinning crookedly.

Salem chuckled softly. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." To put it bluntly, Salem didn't have a lot of good memories with Ferelden. She spent most of her life isolated in a shitty alienage, constantly the victim of brutal human boredom. She spent the other part of her life contending with a Blight and saving the world, getting betrayed around every corner.

There's no place like home.

The ship slowed to a stop at the dock. Alistair was waiting, wearing red and gold finery (Salem had never seen his hair this well-groomed- it was almost alarming) with a grinning Wynne at his side. Isabela hopped onto the railing and then onto the dock, sighing with content.

"I did miss this shithole. Which way to the brothel?" She tossed a charming grin to Alistair.

He laughed nervously. Salem thought she could see a bead of sweat rolling off his forehead. "Er, that way," he said, pointing.

"Nice. Men! Let's go get some booty." With that, Isabela and her crew took off in a blunder of drunken laughter. Salem wanted to join them.

The moment Salem got off the ship, she was met with a bone-crushing hug from Wynne. "It's so good to see you, child," she beamed, patting Salem's back. Laughing, Salem returned the hug, using only half the force Wynne was using.

Alistair looked on, smiling, and once Wynne had her fill, he threw his arms around Salem. His grip was tight enough to make Salem's ribs hurt, but she returned the embrace without complaint. It'd been two years, after all.

Alistair stepped away after a long moment, hands still on her shoulders. He watched her, grinning. "You grew your hair out," he commented, taking his index finger and booping a strand of her bangs.

She gave his face a once-over. Just above his eyebrow, a pristine scar was visible. "That's a new one," she said quietly, suddenly going solemn.

He smiled, waving her off. "Don't worry about-"

"I wasn't here."

His smile faded and he reluctantly removed his hands from her shoulders. "Regardless, you're here now." The corners of his mouth twitched upward, his brown eyes gleaming. "Come on. The others will want to see you as well." He nodded his head towards the cobblestone road and began walking, Salem following behind. She wondered who exactly the 'others' were. Last she heard, Leliana was doing some covert business with the Divine, Zevran was screwing shit up in Antiva (and having the time of his life, mind you), Oghren was contending with a doppelganger son, and Morrigan was... well, still missing.

Denerim bore a stark contrast to Par Vollen. It almost made Salem uncomfortable and out-of-place. The walk to the palace felt like a walk of shame, the only thing missing being a priest and a bell to ring. Perhaps it was wrong to leave Ferelden so abruptly. Herself, she thought she deserved some fun in her life. Thanks to her, Alistair didn't get that same reward. Sure, he seemed happy now, but what about the downtime? Where he's alone with nothing to accompany him besides the dreading fact that the entire kingdom was his to look after. It was quite the burden.

Salem missed Sten already.

 **X X X**

Letters were unsatisfactory, but their only means of communication for the following four years. Every time Salem planned a trip to Par Vollen, something popped up: A blood mage outbreak, some high teenager burning down someone's house, soldiers defecting from a battle, and, most alarmingly, qunari scouts being found on Ferelden's border.

That one was enough to make Salem start biting her nails. Surely Sten wouldn't try to infiltrate Ferelden so soon. With every day that passed, Salem felt more and more guilty for not warning Alistair.

Sten had become increasingly distant and short in his letters. It was like he was trying to push her away, which worried her the most. She'd tried to tell Alistair on multiple occasions, but always backed out at the last minute. She'd go to tell him, he'd give her that heart-warming bastard smile of his, and she'd suddenly not have the heart to make that smile go away. He deserved that smile.

But all happy things must end, and there's no place like home.

It was the second day of Solis that the first horn was blown. It was the second day of Solis that a peasant came running into the palace, guards be damned, to inform his king that horned monsters were attacking Gwaren. Said he'd been running for three days, said he'd been chased for five.

Without question, Alistair and Salem began dawning their armor. Alistair wore a plate of sparkling gold while Salem elected for her Grey Warden armor, wielding a massive greatsword that was bigger than her. Not a half hour later, the entirety of the king's army was marching to Gwaren, with Salem and Alistair at the head.

 **X X X**

 _This was never meant to happen._

 _God, there's so much blood._

 _He's here._

 _There's so much blood._

 _Is it mine?_

Salem used her greatsword as a crutch to maneuver through the sea of bodies. Some were horned. Most were not. Some were using their arms to army crawl, missing both legs or both arms.

 _There's so much blood._

 _There's so much_ pain.

Salem collapsed not five steps after she started moving. Breathing hard, she rolled onto her back with a grunt of agony.

"-get up, we have to move!"

Someone was yanking her upwards. She screamed- or, maybe it wasn't her, but one of the other injured soldiers. _There's so many._ Unfocused, she looked up at the culprit. She could make out a spike of strawberry blond hair and knew it was Alistair. _He's alive._

She looked over her shoulder and nearly collapsed again at what she saw. Hundreds of qunari pouring into the city, weapons shining and battle cries fierce. Sten was at the head of them. A couple soldiers who were lucky enough to get this far lingered, but were cut down before they could even register what was happening.

Alistair stopped, his shock so great that his grip on Salem loosened. They both collapsed in a haze of hopelessness and grief and pain-

Alistair looked at her, and she knew what was coming. He didn't look angry. He looked resigned. The last words he uttered were those of betrayal- betrayal, betrayal, betrayal, that was how his life began and how it was going to end. "You knew."


End file.
